


Uncomfortable Territory

by ras_elased



Category: SGA - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-30
Updated: 2006-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ras_elased/pseuds/ras_elased
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I keep one with me at all times. It's just a comfort to know it's there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue of what I expect will be a 3-parter. Episode tag to TPP. McShep, McMitchell

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[fic: uncomfortable territory](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20uncomfortable%20territory), [genre: friendship](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20friendship), [genre: post-ep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20post-ep), [genre: ust](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20ust), [pairing: mcshep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mcshep), [rating: g](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20g)  
  
  
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**Comfort (Uncomfortable Territory Prologue)**   
_

Author: Ras Elased

Spoilers: Pegasus Project

Summary: "I keep one with me at all times. It's just a comfort to know it's there."

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate: SG-1 or Stargate: Atlantis in any way, shape or form, nor do I take any credit for their ideas, characters, and universe. This snippet contains dialogue from The Pegasus Project, which I also don't own. No money made, only borrowed for the enjoyment of it.

Author's notes: This is the prologue of what I expect will be a 3-parter. Episode tag to TPP. McShep, McMitchell

oOo

 

It had started out as a joke. Sheppard had grabbed a lemon from the mess one morning when Rodney was being particularly annoying due to lack of sleep and sufficient caffeination. He kept it with him on the mission as a reminder that he had a surefire way to shut McKay up if he really had to, but he'd never actually had to threaten McKay with it. He'd been too busy trying to rescue the man from their latest would-be allies. Again.

 

McKay's "amazing" brain hadn't been able to determine that said brain was in danger, and had followed the latest blonde, leggy pseudo-scientist into the clutches of the local government, who wanted said brain for undoubtedly nefarious purposes. He was getting really sick of chasing after Rodney every time he let his libido lead him into a trap when the natives felt his brain was too much of a goodie to pass up.

 

John decided that in the interest of all their livelihoods, he would resume the cockblocking as soon as this mission was over, Rodney's righteous indignation over Norina be damned.

 

During the mission, he found his hand unconsciously resting on the lemon in his pocket whenever he was worried or tense, its weight somehow grounding him. When they got Rodney back with nothing more than a few scratches and a bruised ego, he forgot all about the lemon, and went on about his business as usual.

 

Bringing the lemon on the second mission was an accident. He had forgotten it was in his pocket, not finding it until he was digging through his pockets in search of an extra epipen. Teyla sat with Rodney's head in her lap, stroking his hair through the worst of the convulsions. John had felt useless, watching Rodney's lips slowly turn blue and unable to do anything about it. He shifted the lemon from palm to palm and paced, just to give his unoccupied hands something to do, to ease his feeling of helplessness. When Ronon finally returned with Carson and they had stabilized McKay, John silently tucked the fruit back in his pocket. The irony that he had found solace in a lemon while Rodney went into anaphylactic shock was not lost on him.

 

After that, the lemon became a regular part of his gear, even making it into his unofficial pre-mission checklist. Extra powerbars for Ronon and McKay? Check. Extra hair clip for Teyla, because she _always_ lost it? Check. Trojans for…well, just in case? Check. Lucky Lemon? Check.

 

In the field, his hands had developed familiar resting places that they seemed to gravitate to unconsciously. One was on the hilt of his P-90, the other was on the lemon tucked securely in his vest. When one started to go bad or, as happened on occasion, got squished, he simply got a new one from the mess. Eventually, he decided it just wasn't worth it to keep shifting the lemon from his field gear to his uniform, so he just kept it in his jacket pocket. Sometimes he would forget it was there, then find his hand resting over his pocket at odd times. During mission briefings, when Rodney droned on and on about whatever the hell Sheppard was busy tuning out. When he was hanging out in the lab, and McKay's eyes lit up in some silent understanding that only he could comprehend. When they got into the inevitable trouble on missions, or even just hearing Rodney's voice check in over the radio.

 

So he wasn't really surprised to find his hand placed over the familiar weight of the lemon in his pocket as he followed Colonel Mitchell out of the briefing room. Mitchell seemed like an okay guy, somebody John might actually enjoy hanging out with if he was stationed with him on Atlantis. He knew he could trust Mitchell to take care of McKay, or at least trust McKay to take care of himself. Still, it seemed wrong to send Rodney off to play with nukes and black holes and not be there to watch his back. He'd already given Mitchell a few tips on the Do's and Don'ts on how to handle Dr. Rodney McKay, but he figured one more tip couldn't hurt. "Listen," he said, "if McKay gives you a hard time, just…"

 

"Shoot him," Mitchell finished dryly.

 

"Yeah," John smirked. "Also, he's mortally allergic to citrus."

 

Mitchell looked over his shoulder curiously. "Really?"

 

John smiled, pulling the lemon from his pocket. "I keep one with me at all times." He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before handing the lemon over to Mitchell. "It's just a comfort to know it's there."

 

Mitchell peered at the little yellow fruit. "That's good intel. Thanks," he said, sounding genuinely pleased.

 

Sheppard just gave a little nod before walking off. He heard McKay mutter something to Mitchell as he headed back to his quarters, and found his hand drifting to his now empty pocket, trying to ignore the odd feelings of loss suddenly rising in his chest.

On to Uncomfortable Territory: [Part 1](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/1824.html#cutid1)

Also: I'm looking for potential beta readers. If anyone's interested, let me know in the comments. :D


	2. Uncomfortable Territory (1/3)</p>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Thirty seconds later they were safe and sound back on Atlantis. For some reason, that thought didn't make John feel any better." Episode tag to TPP, McShep, McMitchell

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[fic: uncomfortable territory](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20uncomfortable%20territory), [genre: drama](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20drama), [genre: post-ep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20post-ep), [genre: ust](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20ust), [pairing: mckay/mitchell](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mckay%2Fmitchell), [pairing: mcshep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mcshep), [rating: pg-13](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20pg-13)  
  
  
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**Uncomfortable Territory (1/3)**   
_

Title: Uncomfortable Territory (1/3)

Author: Ras Elased

Spoilers: Pegasus Project

Words: ~3500

Summary: "Thirty seconds later they were safe and sound back on Atlantis. For some reason, that thought didn't make John feel any better." Episode tag to TPP, McShep, McMitchell

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate: Atlantis, and I'm not making any money off of this. It is all done for entertainment purposes.  
A/N: This is my first official part of what looks to be a three parter. I worked in an inkling of Jealous!Sheppard, but it's going to get much more pronounced in subsequent chapters.

Big thanks to my betas, [](http://triple7lies.livejournal.com/profile)[**triple7lies**](http://triple7lies.livejournal.com/), who puts Speedy Gonzalez to shame, and to [](http://unsung-hero-99.livejournal.com/profile)[**unsung_hero_99**](http://unsung-hero-99.livejournal.com/), who suggested the idea for this title.

[Prologue  
](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/2508.html#cutid1)   


oOo

 

A bright white light filled the gateroom, and John allowed a lazy smile to grace his features as the light resolved into the forms of the Daedalus crew. Strolling down the steps towards the assembled group, John spotted Rodney easily, since those around him were giving him a wide berth. His hands were waving excitedly, cutting sharp arcs through the air as he animatedly described something to Colonels Mitchell and Carter. John felt his grin widen at the sight.

 

"—and that's even if you don't take the laws of thermodynamics into account! I mean, it shouldn't have even—"

 

"Welcome back, Rodney," John greeted, exchanging a momentary glance with Mitchell, whose irritation with the scientist was written plainly across his face. Both the Colonels looked harried, so John decided a little distraction was in order. And nothing distracted Rodney better than a nudge to his over-inflated ego. "So, I hear you took out a Wraith hiveship," he added excitedly.

 

Rodney's demeanor instantly brightened. "Yes. Yes, I did."

 

"McKay…" Mitchell warned, raising one eyebrow and shooting Rodney a look.

 

"Though, in all fairness, Colonel Carter helped," he added, a little more sheepishly.

 

Carter's lips pressed together tightly in a frown, but she said nothing else on the matter. "We also took out one of the Ori cruisers," she added, smiling at John, who didn't notice as he was glancing around at the milling crowd that was slowly dissipating.

 

Her comment returned Rodney to his previous sense of agitation. "No, see, that's what I've been trying to tell you! Even with two successive bursts, there shouldn't have been enough power to take out two ships of that size without vaporizing the gate. Now, unless something was wrong with my calculations, which, _please_, is so unlikely that—"

 

Mitchell had once again grown irritated, and called out, "Hey, Sheppard!" John had just enough time to see the lemon Mitchell had lobbed his way, easily catching it in one hand. "Thanks for the lemon. It worked like a charm."

 

"No problem," John smirked, slipping the little yellow fruit back into its usual pocket.

 

Rodney turned angry eyes on Sheppard. "Yes, thank you _so_ much for giving him the highly deadly allergen so he could threaten to poison me during the mission."

 

John squinted at Mitchell disbelievingly. "Ah, c'mon, you didn't…Did you?"

 

Mitchell shrugged. "You said he worked best under pressure," he explained. "Why else would you give me that thing?"

 

John rolled his eyes, but before he could form a suitable retort Rodney jumped into the conversation. "Yes, well, all mention of the death fruit aside, I did make the correct calculations, and Sam verified my results, so—"

 

"Save it, McKay!" Mitchell groaned. "It's over and done, nothing you can do about it now." Turning to Carter, he added. "Let's go drag Daniel away from the kiddie rides and blow this popsicle stand."

 

"I'm afraid that's not possible right now, Colonel Mitchell," Elizabeth called as she descended the steps to their position."Dr. Jackson has made some interesting progress with the Atlantis database, and he's requested an extra two weeks to continue his search for any information the Ancients may have gathered that would be helpful in defeating the Ori. I understand if you're anxious to return to Earth, but you're more than welcome to stay on until Dr. Jackson has finished his research."

 

Mitchell smiled thinly. "Thanks for the offer, Ma'am, but I think we—"

 

"No no no, that's a great idea!" Rodney interrupted, speaking to Elizabeth. "Sam and I were working on this idea—"

 

"_My_ idea," Carter interjected.

 

"Yes, _fine_," Rodney glared and waved his hands dismissively. "Anyway, the idea was to assemble a series of Stargates to bridge the gap between Pegasus and the Milky Way. With enough of them, we won't need to use the ZedPM to dial Earth, and the trip between Earth and Atlantis would only take about 30 minutes in a Puddlejumper." He grinned at Carter. "If you stick around, we can start working on the calculations and reprogramming the Stargates after we collect them. We'll have to—"

 

"Sounds like a plan," Mitchell said, cutting Rodney off before he could get going on a really good rant.

 

"Oh, good. Shall we get started?" He directed his question at Carter, who looked like she was fighting a particularly nasty and persistent migraine.

 

Sheppard took pity on the Colonel. "Ah, Rodney, why don't we let them catch up with Dr. Jackson, and you and I can go grab some dinner." Carter nodded her thanks, then followed Elizabeth up the stairs. Guiding Rodney towards the mess, John asked, "Did you eat lunch?"

 

"Believe me, I tried," Rodney grumbled.

 

"They wouldn't let him eat his sandwich in the hallway," Mitchell spoke from his position on Sheppard's other side, surprising both Rodney and John.

 

"I thought you were going to see Dr. Jackson?" Rodney asked.

 

Mitchell shrugged. "Sam's really better at handling Jackson when he's having a geek out. I'll bring him something to eat later. Besides, I'm starving."

 

"Hmm, well you should have had something on the Odyssey," Rodney answered smugly.

 

Mitchell rolled his eyes. "I was a little more concerned with the mission. Not all of us are ruled by our stomach, McKay."

 

"Excuse me?" Rodney replied, indignant. "I'll have you know that I'm hypoglycemic. Without proper nourishment, I could…"

 

Sheppard tuned out McKay's tirade about low blood sugar and the subsequent banter. Walking in between the two men, he was rarely the target of their barbs, but he occasionally got caught in the crossfire, exchanging sympathetic glances with Mitchell and quelling glares at Rodney. Sheppard was impressed with Mitchell's ability not to take everything Rodney said at face value, though most of it obviously irritated him. By the time they reached the mess, Sheppard was pretty sure he admired Mitchell and under other circumstances, might even count him as a friend. Too bad he would be leaving in a couple weeks.

 

oOo

 

Dinner was more of the same, possibly with a bit more enthusiastic hand waving from McKay than was strictly necessary, though John suspected Rodney was doing it on purpose. He enjoyed shoving his own intelligence into the faces of others, trying to impress them with his brilliance, and if that required grandiose arm movements to get Mitchell's attention, then John just tried to keep clear of the wildly gesturing fork. He also pretended not to notice when Rodney stole his pudding cup, catching Mitchell's raised eyebrow at the theft, giving Sheppard a look that seemed to ask, 'Why the hell do you put up with this guy?' Really, John didn't know why. He and Rodney had always just clicked. John felt comfortable with him, and that in itself was a small wonder, because John was never one to make fast friends. There was just something about Rodney that made John like him, even when he was being an ass. Glancing back up to Mitchell, John just offered a casual shrug in return, because he didn't really have an answer. Rodney, of course, was completely oblivious to the exchange. Overall, it was a rather predictable dinner.

 

The first sign that John might be in trouble came the next day. Rodney had called a briefing to discuss Carter's plan to collect space gates, and after some rather long and boring explanations were exchanged between Rodney, Carter, and Elizabeth, she had given her approval for the idea, even suggesting a potentially uninhabited planet to start. "As soon as Teyla and Ronon get back from their trading mission to M25-785, we'll get you cleared for gate travel," she said.

 

"Wait, they're not supposed to be back for…what, three days?" Rodney asked indignantly. "Why can't we just take Colonel Mitchell and Sam?"

 

Elizabeth had looked puzzled, like she wondered why she hadn't thought of that first. Carter looked panicked, and Mitchell looked mildly curious. "Actually, I, uh," Carter flailed. "I have to finish writing the dialing program that we'll be using for the space gates once we collect enough to make a bridge, so I should probably stay here. You guys should still go, though."

 

Rodney just rolled his eyes condescendingly. "Please, I've seen how you write dialing programs, remember? If I let you write it without my invaluable expertise, who knows what kind of safety protocols you'll take offline!"

 

"McKay, I'm just writing a program to compensate for the inertial drift of the gates in a zero gravity environment," Carter replied, narrowing her eyes. "I think I can handle that without a babysitter."

 

Rodney's mouth opened wide, ready to launch his scathing response, and John almost spoke up in time to break the tension, but Mitchell beat him to it. "Look, we've got two megabrains here, it doesn't make any sense to have them both stuck in the same damn spot. Sam can work on her calculations, and we can go check out this space gate thing, get everything done in half the time." Turning to Rodney, he added snidely, "I would have thought you of all people would want to find the quickest way to do this, McKay. Leaves you more time to eat."

 

"Yes, ha ha, very funny. We're all astounded by your razor sharp wit." Rodney answered dryly, throwing in a condescending eyeroll just for good measure.

 

"Gentlemen," Elizabeth admonished gently. "John, do you think you can pull this off with a team of three?"

 

John leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "Uninhabited planet, far outside of Wraith territory…I think we'll manage."

 

That seemed all Elizabeth needed to give her nod of approval. Before he knew it, he, Rodney, and Mitchell were all kitted up and filing into the Puddlejumper. Mitchell grinned when the jumper lit up at Sheppard's touch. "Cool."

 

"You have no idea," John replied with a smile.

 

This, of course, prompted Rodney to go into one of his impressive speeches that basically boiled down to 'Look how smart I am, I can describe how the Puddlejumper works in excruciatingly boring, and increasingly incomprehensible, technobabble!'

 

"Shut up, McKay. You're killing the romance," Mitchell said, sinking into the copilot's seat and looking at the controls with an expression of utter fascination. Oh yeah, John could tell this guy was a pilot, even if he hadn't read Mitchell's file. Too bad Mitchell didn't have the gene, or John might have let him fly his baby. Maybe.

 

From his usual seat behind him, John heard Rodney mutter something about military boys and their toys,asthe jumper rocketed through the wormhole and shot out into space on the other side. John took a moment to survey the planet from the air, noting that it was, predictably, covered with trees.

 

"Hmm," Mitchell said, also gazing down at the planet. "Is it just me, or does every planet, no matter what galaxy, kinda look the same?"

 

McKay just snorted in response, and John asked, "What's the verdict, Rodney?"

 

"I'm, uh…I'm getting life signs readings from the surface," he said, sounding mildly shocked. "Faint power readings as well."

 

John frowned. "I thought Elizabeth said that this planet was uninhabited?"

 

"Well, yes, according to the database, but that was 10,000 years ago," Rodney answered.

 

"So…what are we waiting for?" Mitchell asked. "Let's go check it out."

 

Rodney and John exchanged wary glances before Sheppard nodded, sending the jumper into a shallow dive towards the planet's surface.

 

oOo

 

The Invidians seemed nice enough, though they were woefully underdeveloped technologically. Still, Rodney wanted to check out the power readings, which were of course, _of course_, coming from the village's sacred but abandoned temple. After the usual 'ritual purification', Rodney's typical complaints ("Did they really need to go overboard on the incense? I'm going to smell like yak musk for _days_. Sheppard, let me borrow your Aqua Velva.") and Mitchell's shocked observations ("That priestess was certainly…friendly…Was there a reason she only wanted to include _me_ in the ritual bathing? …What? McKay says this happens to you all the time, I figured you could explain!"), the trio was finally allowed access to the temple.

 

John entered first, letting his eyes adjust to the dark antechamber. Pushing open the creaky door, he took in the dimly lit structure of the main chamber. Light trickled in from tall, thin windows, the rays of light slanted in the dusk twilight. The room was divided into two sections by a lattice wall, intricately carved in a way that reminded John of ancient temples in the Middle East, used to separate the men from the women during worship. The walls and partition were covered in dead, winding vines.

 

"Creepy," Mitchell said quietly behind him.

 

John just nodded, heading into the room, gun at the ready. He took the left side of the partition, noting out of the corner of his eye that Mitchell took the right. He walked gingerly, his feet crunching on dead leaves and vines, the flashlight of his P-90 illuminating darkened corners of the temple. John couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the place just felt…off, somehow, his shoulders tensing slightly. "McKay, what do you—" he turned, expecting to see Rodney behind him as usual, his eyes locked to the little Ancient scanner he always kept with him. He froze when he realized McKay wasn't there, panic bubbling in his veins. Oh, god, Rodney was missing. What could have happened? Wasn't he just right there a moment ago? Shit, how could he have lost Rodney?

"Colonel, I think I've found something." At the sound of Rodney's voice, John's head snapped sideways to see him through the complex latticework of the partition. He knew he should have been relieved to see Rodney and Mitchell standing there, completely oblivious to John's silent freak-out from a moment before, but instead he felt something inside him violently wrench sideways. He knew Rodney had been bringing up the rear of their little scouting party, and that meant the only way Rodney could be on the opposite side of the partition was because he had chosen, consciously or unconsciously, to follow Mitchell instead of himself. The thought hurt far more than it should have, and John felt an unfamiliar knot form in his stomach. Somehow, he just knew this was only the beginning. He sensed trouble looming on the horizon.

 

"The signal…It's coming from…" Rodney trailed off, then headed for the altar. He stood behind it, running his fingers over the edges, wearing a look of intense concentration. Finally, he ducked down behind the altar and John heard him give a muffled but excited, "Aha!"

 

Sheppard and Mitchell moved as one, each coming around to the back of the altar to stand on either side of McKay. "What is it?" John asked.

 

Rodney didn't answer, just opened a small, secret panel, revealing a few Ancient crystals. After rearranging them, there was a loud hiss behind them, and they all turned to see a large piece of the wall slide backwards. The hidden object glowed, bathing their faces in faint orange light. "It's a ZedPM!" Rodney exclaimed unnecessarily. "And it's almost fully charged!"

 

Rodney reached his hands upwards, and both Sheppard and Mitchell grabbed him at each respective wrist to halt him. They exchanged a brief glance, in which John may or may not have given Mitchell a narrow-eyed glare, before Mitchell said, "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, McKay. I've had enough experience with finding hidden treasure to know that just taking it off the shelf leads to all kinds of trouble."

 

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but John cut him off. "He's right, Rodney, this thing might be booby trapped. Remember the Sudarian Brotherhood?" As soon as he said it, John mentally winced, because the subject of Allina's betrayal was still a sore spot for Rodney. Even so, it seemed to have the desired affect of curbing McKay's reckless enthusiasm somewhat.

 

"Fine," he muttered, pulling out his Ancient device and scanning the area around the ZPM. After a moment, he huffily put the scanner away. "See? Nothing."

 

John eyed Rodney suspiciously. He could always tell when McKay was hiding something. "You're sure?"

 

Rodney looked at him like he had all the mental capacity of an amoeba, but John noticed he didn't quite meet his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure," he sneered.

 

Mitchell smirked. "Are you sure you're sure?"

 

Rodney rolled his eyes disgustedly as he quickly reached for the ZPM. "Oh, for crying—" As soon as Rodney removed the ZPM from its casing, the ground began to tremble in a violent earthquake.

 

"Dammit, Rodney!" John shouted at the same time as Mitchell's "Put it back! Now!"

 

Rodney hastily shoved the device back into its compartment, and all three held their breath for a few long seconds before the shaking stopped. John noticed belatedly that Mitchell still had a steadying hand tightly fisted in Rodney's sleeve. He blinked and the hand was gone. "What the hell just happened, McKay?" he asked in a strained voice.

 

Rodney's blue eyes darted nervously. "Okay, so there may have been, um…a slight power drain…that I detected with the scanner." At John's furious look, Rodney continued, "Look, it was negligible! Anybody but me running that scan wouldn't have even picked it up! I figured it was worth the risk!"

 

"Well you figured wrong!" John snapped back. Grabbing Rodney's sleeve, he began hauling him down his side of the partition, Mitchell following behind. "C'mon, we're going home."

 

The Invidians, however, had a different plan, which became quite clear when Sheppard stepped out into the sunlight and was immediately faced with fifty arrows pointed directly at his chest. Shoving Rodney behind him, he muttered, "If we get out of this alive, Rodney, I am _so_ going to kill you myself, once we get back to Atlantis."

 

The next thing he knew, they were running through the forest back to their waiting jumper, arrows whizzing by their heads to impale the nearby trees. John kept up an ever evolving mantra of curses aimed at Rodney, who matched each one with comments about 'backwards cultures who think earthquakes are caused by angry gods,' and Mitchell covered their six. Once they reached the jumper, Sheppard ran through the open hatch and quickly took the pilot seat, hastily bringing everything online. Mitchell turned to lay down one last round of cover fire, when an arrow caught him in the shoulder, the shock of it sending him stumbling to the ground.

 

"Colonel!" Rodney called, and for a split second John thought he was yelling for him. He whipped his head around in time to see McKay running back out of the jumper to help Mitchell to his feet. As soon as they stood, two arrows skewered the ground at their feet.

 

"Go!" Mitchell yelled, practically dragging Rodney into the jumper with his good arm. John began closing the hatch before they were even fully in the jumper, and Mitchell hauled Rodney in with one final yank just as an arrow grazed Rodney's arm. Unable to halt their forward momentum, they tumbled into the jumper, Rodney landing on top of Mitchell with a painful grunt.

 

Satisfied that Rodney and Mitchell were safe, John began taking off before the hatch door had even hissed shut. He focused on flying the jumper, dimly aware of the conversation going on behind him.

 

"Ugh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—Are you hurt?" There was a pause, and John could picture Mitchell glaring at him, an arrow sticking up from his shoulder. "Er, right. Stupid question. Um, does it hurt? I mean, is there anything I can do?"

 

"Yeah," Mitchell said, his voice groaning like he couldn't breathe. "Get off me."

 

"Oh. Right. Yes. Sorry." Some scuffling noises, then, "Are you sure there's—"

 

"GAH!" Mitchell's shout nearly lifted John out of the pilot's chair. "Don't _touch_ it!" he said, using a voice that reminded John of the one Rodney used on life science specialists and other people he considered to have less than baseline intelligence.

 

"Right. Sorry," Rodney said again, and there was a long pause. Once Sheppard had gotten the jumper out of the planet's atmosphere, he felt safe enough to hazard a glance behind him. They were sitting on opposite ends of the cargo bay, Rodney absently fingering the ripped sleeve of his uniform. "Listen, Colonel…thanks for…" He trailed off, and suddenly John was no longer able to take the look on Rodney's face. He glanced back to the HUD to check his orbit, making sure he was coming up on the gate, then glanced back once again from the corner of his eye.

 

Mitchell was making the same face everyone made when faced with Rodney displaying any emotion besides his usual default setting of 'I hate your stupidity so much I want to fry your brains with my eyeballs.' It was equal parts suspicious, hopeful, and freaked beyond all recognition. "Well, you came back for me first, so I guess we're even," he said, making it sound half like a challenge and half like a compliment.

 

Rodney smiled a little at that, but before he could say anything, John tapped his radio and said a little louder than was strictly necessary, "Atlantis, this is Jumper One requesting clearance."

 

John sent his IDC through, and there was a brief pause before the gate tech's voice said, "You're clear, Jumper One."

 

"Copy that. I'm on final approach." John easily lined up his path to the gate, and thirty seconds later they were safe and sound, back on Atlantis.

 

For some reason, that thought didn't make John feel any better.

  
On to [Part 2](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/1532.html#cutid1).

  



	3. Uncomfortable Territory (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John didn't know how long they'd been performing CPR, he only knew that the muscles in his shoulders and back were beginning to ache when he had his epiphany." Episode tag to TPP, McShep, McMitchell

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[fic: uncomfortable territory](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20uncomfortable%20territory), [genre: drama](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20drama), [genre: post-ep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20post-ep), [genre: ust](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20ust), [pairing: mckay/mitchell](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mckay%2Fmitchell), [pairing: mcshep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mcshep), [rating: pg-13](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20pg-13)  
  
  
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**Uncomfortable Territory (2/3)**   
_

Title: Uncomfortable Territory (2/3)  
Author: Ras Elased

Spoilers: Pegasus Project

Words: ~4200

Summary: "John didn't know how long they'd been performing CPR, he only knew that the muscles in his shoulders and back were beginning to ache when he had his epiphany." Episode tag to TPP, McShep, McMitchell

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate: Atlantis, and I'm not making any money off of this. It is all done for entertainment purposes.

A/N: Hmm…lots of cursing in this one, for some reason. I guess in my mind, John is a potty mouth without the network censors. ;)

Acknowledgements: Once again, huge thanks to [](http://triple7lies.livejournal.com/profile)[**triple7lies**](http://triple7lies.livejournal.com/) for the beta. (Is it a bad sign when your beta's editorial comments are wittier than your fic? ;P )

**ETA**: Here's links to the [prologue](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/2508.html#cutid1) and [Part 1](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/1824.html#cutid1).

oOo

 

"So," Elizabeth said, glancing at the trio of misfits in the briefing room, "I take it the Invidian gate is off limits?"

 

Rodney, John, and Mitchell were all standing in front of Elizabeth's desk, showing various levels of discomfort. John was standing at parade rest, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. On one side was a nervously fidgeting McKay, occasionally brushing his fingers across the hidden bandage on his arm, and on the other was Mitchell, haphazardly adjusting the arm in his sling. Sheppard mentally cringed- so much for 'We can handle it.'

 

Elizabeth had listened during the briefing with ever-climbing eyebrows. She had lit up at the mention of a fully charged ZPM, frowned at the descriptions of them running for their lives, and now she just looked crestfallen and disappointed. After a few moments, Rodney bravely broke the silence. "Well, technically, we could probably still take it."

 

Elizabeth glared at him. "Rodney, you said the planet was populated!"

 

"Well, yes, but it's a space gate. It's not like the Invidians are using it. And after our last visit, I doubt we'll be going there to negotiate trade relations."

 

"And whose fault is that?" John muttered under his breath, but Rodney pointedly ignored him.

 

"If anything, taking their gate would be doing them a favor! The only purpose the gate serves is as a means for the Wraith to reach the planet."

 

Elizabeth glared at him a moment longer, then glanced down at her hands clasped atop her desk. "Alright, we'll mark the Invidian gate as a possibility. But for now," she spoke to Sheppard, "I'm putting your team on standby. With Teyla and Ronon offworld, and your recent injuries, I want you to take it easy for now. We'll resume the scouting missions in a few days."

 

The trio nodded, Mitchell giving a disgustingly respectful "Yes, Ma'am," and then they filed from her office.

 

As soon as they were safely out of earshot Rodney said, "Well, that wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected. Who's up for some lunch?"

 

Mitchell rolled his eyes, but couldn't quite wipe the amused grin from his face. "How did I know you were going to say that, McKay?" Matching Rodney's stride towards the mess, Mitchell playfully smacked Rodney in the arm, causing him to suck in a hissed breath.

 

"OW!" he recoiled, placing a protective hand over his arm. "I'm sorry, perhaps you forgot about the debilitating gash I received while saving you back on that planet!"

 

Mitchell paused, glaring hard at Rodney through narrowed eyes, none too subtly adjusting his sling. "Right. When _you_ saved _me_. Sorry." His tone was dry as the Sahara.

 

Rolling his eyes, John grabbed Rodney by his good arm and led him towards the mess.

 

oOo

 

Lunch had a slightly different dynamic from the day before. Rodney and Mitchell still bickered, but for some reason John just didn't find it as entertaining as he had yesterday. He sullenly ate his turkey sandwich in silence, listening to Mitchell tell stories about the battle with Anubis in Antarctica. Now that John knew the story behind that day, he recalled the commotion it had caused at McMurdo with a twinge of bitterness. While Mitchell had been shooting down alien spacecraft, John had been unsuccessfully trying to get his CO to explain why his chopper had been commandeered, gaining only a hurried, "There are more important things than supply runs going on right now, my boy."

 

He shot Mitchell a questioning glare when he handed his Jell-o over to Rodney, saying only that he wasn't a 'Jell-o fan.' Mitchell caught his look and shrugged, mimicking John's response from yesterday. Rodney happily accepted the Jell-o, though John knew for a fact he didn't like red nearly as much as blue. At the end of the meal, John looked down at his own pudding cup still on his tray, for once not pilfered by Rodney. Disgustedly, he threw it in the trash, untouched. He grabbed a fresh lemon on his way out.

 

Over the next several days, he noticed Mitchell divided his time equally between Dr. Jackson in the archive room, and Carter and Rodney in the labs. He knew Mitchell didn't have the expertise to help out in either of those departments, but he'd learned that Mitchell, like himself, was not a man who liked to sit still and do nothing. John could sympathize, but he still found a myriad of excuses to use whenever Mitchell wanted to hang out with him.

 

After Teyla and Ronon had wrapped up their trade negotiations, John was relieved that Elizabeth cleared the team for more scouting missions. Rodney, however, had deemed the work he was doing with Carter his "top priority," and refused to go along on the missions. It was still several days later that John and Rodney, working together, were finally able to convince Zelenka to be McKay's temporary replacement. In all fairness, they probably could have talked him into it sooner, but John had to admit he hadn't really been trying all that hard. His repeated comments like, "It's only at the _edge_ of Wraith territory," and, "We don't get shot at _that_ much," were not the most helpful under the circumstances. Those kinds of comments had earned him more than one of Rodney's trademark glares.

 

When John finally got fed up with Rodney scowling at him during lunch, he decided that having Zelenka come along on a few missions wouldn't be such a bad idea, and after that Zelenka was surprisingly easy to convince. The mission was quick, scouting three gates in three days, not even bothering to come back to Atlantis in between each one. Zelenka had been so jumpy the entire mission John was tempted to check to see if he had springs on his shoes, but the results were mostly a success, with two out of the three planets being tagged as potential gates for the bridge. After the debriefing, John found himself casually escorting a much more relaxed Zelenka back to the labs, figuring he'd make Rodney eat some lunch once he got there.

 

John dropped Zelenka off at one of the smaller labs, then continued on to the spacious lab Rodney had claimed in their first week on Atlantis. He was still well outside the lab when John felt his jaw clench. He immediately recognized the voices drifting from the open door, and found himself checking his watch, idly wondering how long Mitchell had been there and if he didn't have anything better to do than bug Rodney during his lunch hour.

 

"Oh c'mon, McKay! One little touch. What's the harm in that?"

 

"I said no! Would you just—stop that!" Rodney yelled. "For the last time, don't touch anything that you don't have permission to touch!"

 

John called from the open doorway, "You heard the man. No means no, Mitchell." It didn't come out as flippant as he meant it to sound.

 

Rodney immediately rounded on John at the sound of his voice. "Oh, thank god! Sheppard, would you tell Mitchell to keep his hands off the delicate Ancient devices!" At the last word, he plucked a little object with blinking lights out of Mitchell's hand.

 

Coolly, John turned to Mitchell with a dangerous smile, the one he usually used on villagers just before they pulled weapons on each other. "Mitchell, I think you'd better keep your hands to yourself."

 

Mitchell raised an eyebrow at the tone. After a brief glance back to McKay, he cocked his head faintly sideways and muttered, "Huh," as if he'd just figured something out. With a calculating gaze that never left Sheppard's face, Mitchell reached out and blindly grabbed a device from the lab bench. John narrowed his eyes at the implied challenge.

 

Rodney glared at John, as if he was to blame for Mitchell picking up the device. "Apparently, he follows orders just as well as you do, Colonel."

 

"Technically," Mitchell said, fumbling with the device, "we're the same rank. He can't order me to do anything." And with that, he pushed a button and vanished into thin air.

 

Rodney immediately panicked. "Mitchell? Mitchell!" he called, waving his frantic hands towards the spot Mitchell had just occupied. His hand appeared to come in contact with solid air with a quiet smacking sound.

 

"OW!" Mitchell called, immediately reappearing and rubbing his tender shoulder where Rodney had cuffed it. Sheppard noticed for the first time that Mitchell seemed to have no problem moving his arm without the sling.

 

Mitchell glared at Rodney, who looked relieved and mildly apologetic. "Well, that's what you get for messing with a…a…what is it?"

 

"Personal cloaking device," Mitchell replied glumly, tossing the device back into the pile.  

 

John couldn't help himself. "Really?" he asked, picking up the little gadget. He immediately vanished. "Cool."

 

"Not really," Mitchell shrugged. "I used them all the time when I was training with the Sodan. The fun wears off after the first twenty minutes or so. Not exactly the best superpower, in my opinion." He glanced at Rodney, who was busy glaring in the vague direction of John. "Now x-ray vision, that's a power I can get behind."

 

Frowning, John deactivated the cloak and set the device back on the table, where Rodney quickly picked it up. Sheppard watched Rodney fiddle with the device a while, the said, "Look, um…I know I've been gone for a few days, so this might seem like a dumb question, but…How did he activate that thing?"

 

"What?" Rodney looked up briefly from the cloaking device. "You mean Mitchell?"

 

"Doc Beckett gave me that gene therapy thing earlier today," Mitchell explained, taking advantage of Rodney's distraction to poke curiously at a few other devices. "McKay thought I should test out my new ATA gene on some of his toys."

 

John glanced at Rodney, who was becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to activate the cloak. "Oh he did, did he?" Walking over to Rodney, John took the device from his hands and said, "C'mon, McKay, you've had your fun. Time for lunch."

 

"I already ate," Rodney protested.

 

"Powerbars and coffee don't count."

 

"Relax, Sheppard, I made sure he got something besides junk food while you were gone. You know, for a guy so obsessed with food, McKay sure has a problem remembering to eat." John just stared back blankly, an uneasy feeling taking root in the pit of his stomach. At John's continued silence, Mitchell said, "What? I took good care of your pet scientist while you were gone," he smiled. "I fed him, took him for walks—" Mitchell nudged Rodney playfully with his elbow, smirking.

 

"Yes, thank you so much, Mitchell," Rodney rolled his eyes, utterly sarcastic. "It's a wonder I've survived this long without you." At that, he yanked the device from John's clenched fingers and activated the cloak with a victorious, "Aha!"

 

John turned to stare at the spot where Rodney had just vanished from his side. For some reason, the thought made him feel like someone had just sucked all the air from his lungs. Rodney reappeared a moment later, grinning beatifically. John immediately recognized it as the same smile he had on those rare occasions he actually let his guard down enough to have fun. He remembered when he'd first seen that smile, in his first week on Atlantis, while testing the personal shield, and he'd found he couldn't help but smile back. Only this time, that smile wasn't directed at John. It was directed at Mitchell.

 

John suddenly felt like an intruder. "Look, I, uh…I've got to go write up my report, so I'll just…" John let the thought hang, surprisingly very anxious to get out of there.

 

"Oh, hey! I forgot to ask, how did the mission go?" Rodney called to his retreating back.

 

"I'll, uh…I'll fill you in later," John called back, not bothering to turn around.

 

oOo

 

John sat in his quarters, staring at his computer screen, silently loathing the blinking cursor that occupied the blank report.

 

It wasn't that John hadn't tried to write his mission report, but he was finding it unusually difficult to focus. His mind kept drifting back to how he felt every time he saw Rodney and Mitchell together.

 

Despite what some of his commanders and nearly all of his ex-girlfriends might say, his emotional growth had not been stunted at age twelve. He was entirely capable of sharing his best friend. He knew he could be territorial when it came to the people close to him, but if Rodney wanted to have lunch with Carson or play chess with Zelenka, John had no problem with jealousy. There was no reason for him to get so bent out of shape about Rodney and Mitchell spending time together. If John was the one hanging out with Mitchell all the time, he knew Rodney wouldn't care. Hell, he probably wouldn't even notice!

 

And why didn't that thought make him feel any better?

 

Slamming his laptop shut with a little more force than necessary, John headed towards the Jumper bay. He felt like his quarters were suffocating him, and he needed a change of scenery. The walk through the corridors calmed him somewhat, and he knew a quick flight in the Jumper would clear his head, but as soon as he reached the Jumper bay he felt his spine go ramrod straight and his shoulders tensed painfully. "Rodney? What are you doing here?"

 

Rodney looked up from the copilot's seat, where he had been describing the Jumper's systems to Mitchell. "Colonel? Oh, uh, Mitchell and I were just going to test out his ATA gene in the Puddlejumper."

 

"We figure a short little jaunt to the mainland and back should do it." Mitchell said from the pilot's seat, his hands already on the controls. John felt sick.

 

"You, uh…You want me to come with?" he offered.

 

Rodney just rolled his eyes. "Sheppard, you've got to get over this possessive streak!"

 

John balked. "What?"

 

"I realize this is your favorite Jumper, but I think it's okay to let it out of your sight for a few hours," Rodney finished snappishly.

 

John looked at the Jumper curiously. He hadn't even realized they were taking Jumper One.

 

"Don't worry, I'll get her home before curfew," Mitchell added blithely.

 

John glared at the back of his head for several seconds before Rodney spat, "Oh, fine! If I promise to bring it back in one piece, will you leave?"

 

Something in John's face must have betrayed the moment of hurt he felt at Rodney's words, because his expression immediately softened. He opened his mouth to speak, but John cut him off. Putting on the most nonchalant air he could manage, he told them to have a good time, then left as fast as he could without running. On his way out of the bay, he laid a possessive hand over the lemon in his pocket and headed towards the gym. He suddenly had an intense desire to beat the shit out of something.

 

oOo

 

John was about halfway into smacking the smug look off that stupid training dummy's face when his radio chirped. "John?" Elizabeth's voice called. He immediately recognized her 'shit is about to hit the fan' tone.

 

"What happened?" he asked.

 

There was a pause that had John clenching his jaw painfully, then, "There's been an accident."

 

John felt his knees go weak. "Rodney?" he asked in a small voice.

 

"He's…we're not sure. His Jumper crashed on the mainland, but we haven't been able to reach them on the radio. We're getting ready to send a medical team out there now."

 

John was running before he even knew where he was headed. "How long will that take?"

 

"Uh, Carson says he can be ready in…" There were hushed voices as she conferred with someone off the radio. "…ten minutes."

 

"Good." John entered the Jumper bay, running to the nearest available Jumper and starting it up. "Have Lorne get a Jumper prepped so he can fly the medical team over ASAP."

 

"John? I'd thought you'd want to—Why did the roof of the Jumper bay just open?"

 

"Tell Lorne I'll see him on the mainland," he answered, then rocketed out of the Jumper bay at full speed.

 

oOo

 

The flight to the mainland usually lasted about twenty to thirty minutes. John made it there in nine.

 

There was a thin column of smoke near the beach that John had threatened to take Rodney to and teach him to surf. He'd never seen Rodney look so terrified, he remembered fondly.

 

As he began to set the Jumper down, he noticed the smoke was rising from the forward section of the Jumper, where part of the windshield had been smashed. The Jumper had crashed nose-first, burying the front end of the Jumper in a small mound of dirt and leaving a gaping scar in the ground behind it. John had the hatch of his own Jumper opening before he'd landed, then ran out of the still moving hatch towards the downed Jumper. He quickly climbed past the sharp glass into the front section of the Jumper, slicing a long strip along his left forearm. He used his jacket to smother the fire on the copilot control station, coughing against the thick smoke filling the cockpit. John's panic rose incrementally when he spied Mitchell in the pilot's chair, barely conscious, and no sign of Rodney. John shook Mitchell awake slightly, then they worked together to climb over the controls and out the window. John laid his jacket over the glass, then dragged Mitchell's body out into the fresh air. The two men coughed harshly against the lingering smoke in their lungs, but John forced his voice to work. "Where's Rodney?" he asked past the painful hacking in his chest.

 

Mitchell just blinked at him hazily for a few seconds, as if not completely sure of his surroundings, or that John was even speaking English. "Where the fuck is Rodney?" John shouted, fisting both his hands in the front of Mitchell's uniform.

 

It seemed enough to shake Mitchell from his haze. "He's…he's still in the Jumper," he wheezed. "Back section."

 

John was instantly on his feet again, climbing into the Jumper before his brain had even registered the thought. Blinking past the smoke that stung his eyes, John pulled the lever to open the hatch to the rear compartment, but all he got for his trouble were sparks and smoke. "Shit," he muttered before another hacking fit overtook him.

 

When a cursory glance around the cockpit revealed nothing that would help pry the door open, John climbed back out of the windshield and ran on shaky legs back to his own Jumper, grabbing the crowbar and running back to Rodney's Jumper. He wedged the crowbar in between the airtight doors, his muscles flexing and straining as he wrenched the doors apart a crack, heat and smoke erupting from the opening. As soon as he could fit his hands between the doors, he began shoving them apart, wedging his body in between the doors to keep them from closing. With a final cry, he shoved backwards with his shoulders and jammed the crowbar in between the base of the doors to keep them open. The rear compartment was so thick with smoke he could barely make out the small control panel fire and Rodney's still form lying on the floor of the Jumper. With another coughing fit, John made his way over to Rodney, noticing the smear of blood trailing from his temple. John gasped for air, feeling like his lungs were only one tenth their normal size, but he pulled Rodney up into a fireman's carry and lugged him to the front compartment. He dragged him through the opening in the windshield as he had done with Mitchell before, the strain making the cut on his arm bleed profusely. He barely noticed.

 

Once John had Rodney clear of the Jumper, he checked his vitals, and that's when John's vision went black around the edges. Rodney wasn't breathing. There was no pulse. Fuck.

 

John immediately started CPR. The ash from his lips and hands rubbed off on Rodney's face when he tried to give him breaths, but John felt like he couldn't get enough air for himself let alone Rodney. After the first breath he was doubled over in a coughing fit that he was sure cracked a few ribs, and then suddenly Mitchell was by his side. "You've got smoke inhalation," he said, he voice mildly hoarse. "I've been out in the open longer, I can breathe better than you. Just focus on the chest compressions."

 

John didn't argue, and he didn't trust himself to speak without hacking up a lung, so he just nodded weakly, doing as instructed. Blood from his cut trickled down his arms during the compressions, pooling in the center of Rodney's chest and staining his uniform. John and Mitchell settled into a comfortable rhythm, John forcing Rodney's heart to beat with his fists, while Mitchell breathed air into his lungs. John didn't know how long they'd been performing CPR, he only knew that the muscles in his shoulders and back were beginning to ache when he had his epiphany.

 

He knew there was nothing romantic about this scene. He was terrified for his best friend's life, Rodney's body lying limp beneath his hands. But as he watched Mitchell press his mouth to Rodney's over and over again, he felt a tightness grow in his chest that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. Mitchell matched his mouth perfectly with Rodney's, breathing his own air into Rodney's lungs, and John imagined that if they kissed it would be just as perfectly matched and just as intimate. He had a sudden, irrational urge to shove Mitchell away and tell him never to touch Rodney again unless he had an overwhelming desire to be sent home in a body bag.

 

As epiphanies go, it was a pretty shitty time to realize you've got the big gay love for your best friend.

 

It was shortly thereafter that the medical team arrived, giving both John and Mitchell oxygen and immediately getting to work on Rodney. The moment John heard Carson yell, "I've got a pulse!" he smiled, then slipped quietly into shock.

 

oOo

 

When Rodney awoke in the infirmary, his area was curtained off, and John was seated at the foot of his bed. His face and hands had been wiped clean, but the rest of him was still covered in ash. The cut on his arm had also been bandaged, one bright spot of white against the dark smudges covering his arms and neck. He watched Rodney blink awake slowly, schooled his features into a stoic mask, then managed a hoarse, "Hey."

 

"Hey," Rodney answered back, sounding like John felt. After a contemplative pause, he added, "You look like hell."

 

John couldn't help but snort at that, even though it made his throat hurt. "Yeah, well, I feel like shit," he smirked. "You?"

 

Rodney quietly took stock of his own injuries, felt the bandage on his head, then replied, "The same."

 

John nodded, then stood, putting his hands in his pockets. He made no move to come towards Rodney, but stayed standing at the end of the bed. "Beckett says you have smoke inhalation and a mild concussion. He wants to keep you overnight for observation, just in case."

 

Rodney nodded, then asked a quiet voice, as if he was afraid to hear the answer, "And…Mitchell?"

 

John looked at his shoes so he wouldn't have to look at Rodney's face. "He's fine," he answered. "They treated him for mild smoke inhalation and sent him home about an hour ago." It was mostly the truth. Really, Mitchell had wanted to stick around and wait for Rodney to wake up, but Carson had taken one look at John's face and told Mitchell if he didn't leave the infirmary and get some rest, he'd get a security detail to escort him back to his quarters. Then he'd grabbed one of the special, comfy chairs from his office and set it by Rodney's bed, only wincing slightly as John's soot-covered body settled into the seat.

 

"It wasn't his fault." Rodney's voice brought John's gaze up from his shoes to earnest blue eyes.

 

"What?" he asked.

 

"The Jumper crash. It wasn't Mitchell's fault. There was some sort of disruption with the capacitors for the internal systems. I tried to—"

 

"Rodney," John said, cutting him off before he set himself up for a coughing fit. John had heard the whole story from Mitchell. Rodney had gone to the rear compartment to make adjustments to compensate for the overload, and minutes later the copilot controls had exploded. Rodney probably would have been killed instantly if he was sitting there. After that, Mitchell had cut off the rear compartment, confining the smoke to the cockpit while he made a hasty, rough landing. "I know what happened," John finished.

 

"Oh," Rodney said, sounding a little put out that he wasn't being allowed to tell his story. "Well, I…It's just…you look pretty upset. I just didn't want you to go beat up Mitchell or anything. I mean, I'm sure I can fix the Jumper. I just need to—"

 

"Rodney," John interrupted again, this time a bit more harshly than he meant to. "It wasn't the damned Jumper I was worried about."

 

Rodney blinked back at him a few times before he mouthed a quiet, "Oh."

 

"Just…get some rest," John sighed, then pulled the curtain back to exit Rodney's personal area. He left the infirmary, tiredly walking back to his quarters for a hot shower and some sleep.

 

oOo

 

On to [Part 3](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/1073.html#cutid1).


	4. Uncomfortable Territory (3/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Aye," Carson said again, this time adding a silent 'you bloody idiot' judging by his tone. "He thinks you beat the Colonel up out of some misguided need to defend your Jumper's honor."_ Episode tag to TPP, McShep, McMitchell

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[fic: uncomfortable territory](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20uncomfortable%20territory), [genre: angst](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20angst), [genre: drama](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20drama), [genre: romance](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20romance), [pairing: mckay/mitchell](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mckay%2Fmitchell), [pairing: mcshep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mcshep), [rating: r](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20r)  
  
  
---|---  
  
  
Title: Uncomfortable Territory (3/3)  
Author: Ras Elased  
Spoilers: Pegasus Project  
Words: ~7,300  
Summary: _"Aye," Carson said again, this time adding a silent 'you bloody idiot' judging by his tone. "He thinks you beat the Colonel up out of some misguided need to defend your Jumper's honor."_ Episode tag to TPP, McShep, McMitchell  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate: Atlantis, and I'm not making any money off of this. It is all done for entertainment purposes. Also, I don't own Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. (I don't know who it belongs to, but it's not mine.)  
A/N: Yay! Sex! *g* (My first time writing it, although the good stuff is left out because I really, really think I need to work up to it. You would all cry in pain and throw things at me if you read any of my more graphic sex scenes.) Also, this is a hugely long chapter (for me, at least). I don't know how that happened… 

Acknowledgements: Big thanks to my beta [](http://triple7lies.livejournal.com/profile)[**triple7lies**](http://triple7lies.livejournal.com/) for her boundless help and wisdom, and especially for dealing with this mammoth chapter so speedily. You rock! Have a cookie.  :)

Links to [Prologue](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/2508.html#cutid1), [Part 1](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/1824.html#cutid1), and [Part 2](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/1532.html#cutid1).

  


_   
**Uncomfortable Territory (3/3)**   
_

oOo

 

John awoke the next morning, feeling rested and much happier than he had the night before. A rather large part of that, he knew, was the fact that SG-1 would be leaving on the Odyssey in two days. And they would take Cameron Mitchell with them.

 

Therefore, it was with a light heart and an internal mantra of 'two days!' that he stopped by the mess on his way to visit Rodney, grabbing some blue jell-o to sneak past the nurses. Almost as an afterthought, he decided to grab a new lemon to replace the one in his pocket. He headed over to the fruits, glanced up and down the selection, but for the life of him he couldn't find any lemons. He knew the Daedalus would be bringing a new shipment about the same time that the Odyssey would be leaving, and the lemon in his pocket was only slightly mushy, so he figured he'd be fine for another day or so. Grabbing a second jell-o cup on his way out, he headed towards the infirmary, figuring Rodney would welcome him and his abundance of jell-o with open arms. He steadfastly refused to acknowledge the fact that he had teenage girl _butterflies_ in his stomach at the thought of spending time with Rodney over a freaking cup of jell-o. He felt quite positive they were very manly butterflies—with guns.

 

When he reached Rodney's curtained off little area of the infirmary, he could make out two distinct silhouettes against the fabric. The one reclining slightly on the bed was obviously Rodney, and he figured the other was Carson. But as he drew closer, he realized he wasn't hearing Carson's brogue fussing at Rodney for being a perpetual pain in the ass, but Mitchell and Rodney speaking in hushed voices. He felt his insides clench at the realization, crushing the life out of whatever butterflies might have been there a moment ago. He felt like Mitchell had one hand around his heart, and he was slowly tightening his grip, squeezing and crushing his heart with each additional hour he stayed on Atlantis. And now, John had to face the fact that they were whispering to each other, probably gossiping like a couple of old nags, sharing their secrets. He hesitated only a moment before quietly moving forward so he could make out their voices.

 

"Look, Mitchell, it's not like I haven't thought about it, but I…I just don't know."

 

"McKay, I've seen what you can do. Trust me, we need you." John saw Mitchell's shadow duck his head slightly. "I'll admit, I didn't really get what Sheppard meant when he said you don't know the meaning of 'impossible' when it comes to finding a solution." He looked up, then continued earnestly, "I do now. With your help, I know we'll figure out a way to beat the Ori."

 

Rodney's shadow sighed and looked at his hands, lying unnaturally still in his lap. "I can't just leave, Mitchell. I have...people here that I…I care about. And…And the science staff is completely helpless. Well, Radek's fine, but the rest of them don't have two brain cells to rub together! They'd blow up the city without me to double check their work. Just yesterday I was looking over Dr. Werner's schematics for power redistribution in sector ten, and he had routed power directly from the naquada generator to the air filtration systems. The _air filtration systems_! What did he think we were going to breathe when he blew the capacitors? I swear I—"

 

"McKay," Mitchell interrupted, and John could almost hear the eye roll. "It would just be a temporary assignment. I'm sure Zelenka can hold down the fort for a few weeks, or…months…And, ya know…if you wanted to stick around longer, I wouldn't complain too much." There was a long pause, the two silhouettes watching each other silently, their expressions hidden, and John swallowed thickly in the tension. Abruptly, Mitchell cleared his throat. "Sam might, uh, kick up a fuss, though."

 

"Hmm, yes," Rodney replied in a matter of fact tone. "I'd have to make sure not to upstage her too much."

 

Mitchell snorted softly at that, rubbing his hand lazily against the back of his neck. "Look, just…Just think about it, okay?"

 

Another pause, and John felt like his heart had stopped beating in his chest as he waited for Rodney's answer. At Rodney's reluctant nod, John's heart took up residence in his throat, blocking off his air supply.

 

John was still in shock when Mitchell stepped out of the curtains, looking up to meet John's wide hazel eyes and tightly clenched jaw. Mitchell froze mid-step, staring back with his own startled expression. Without a word, John silently set his two jell-o cups on a nearby table, turned his back on Mitchell, and left the infirmary the way he'd come.

 

oOo

 

John kept his cool for a good two to three minutes, his determined stride taking him down corridors at random, no thought on his mind but putting as much distance as possible between himself and Mitchell. When he knew he absolutely couldn't take it any longer, he veered out onto the nearest balcony and leaned over the edge, breathing heavily, and concentrating on not emptying the contents of his stomach over the railing.

 

'This is not happening,' he thought. 'There is no way Rodney is really considering leaving Atlantis. He'd never leave all this, not for _Mitchell_.'

 

Even as he thought it, he had a sudden flash of Mitchell leaning over Rodney, covering his mouth with his own, like he had during CPR. But this time, Rodney's hand came up to cup the back of Mitchell's head, his fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, a flash of tongue between their slightly parted mouths…

 

John didn't even realize his fist had made contact with the wall until he opened his eyes and saw a smudge of blood against the bluish metal. Looking down at his hand, he saw he'd split two of his knuckles open.

 

'Okay,' he thought. 'Time for another trip to the gym.'

 

oOo

 

John had been in the gym long enough to work up a healthy sweat when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He swung around abruptly, startled.

 

"John?" Teyla asked, brow furrowed in confusion. She had no doubt seen his angry, determined beating of the punching bag hanging in the corner, and was examining him now, looking for traces in his face and demeanor as to what could have put him in such a wild mood. John held her gaze but didn't reply, feeling exposed under her intense scrutiny. After a long moment, in which the only sound in the room was his own harsh breathing, Teyla seemed to come to a conclusion and headed to her bag, taking out two pairs of fighting sticks. She handed one set to him, took up a stance across from him on the mat, and nodded resolutely. "Let us begin."

 

oOo

 

John was distracted and emotional, so he wasn't exactly in his best fighting form. Still, he didn't think he could muster up the motivation to focus. He'd always found getting his ass kicked by Teyla to be a particularly effective form of therapy, and Teyla seemed to understand that. He was glad she wasn't going easy on him.

 

"Again," she said, after wiping the mat with him.

 

John fought the urge to groan, then stood. Adjusting his stance like she had shown him, he waited for her attack. She swung her sticks in a graceful arc, and John watched for the tell-tale shift in her weight that would signal what side she would strike from. A flick of the wrist, and John blocked her strike to his left thigh, swinging his other arm to deflect the strike to his torso. Using her own momentum against her, John improvised and spun away from her path of motion, then brought his sticks up in a volley of fluid strikes, his last one knocking her stick from her hand. She smiled at him, a little surprised, then nodded appreciatively.

 

"Not bad," Mitchell called from the open doorway, and John felt his muscles seize as he fought to reign in his sudden rush of fury. "For a beginner," he amended.

 

John glared tightly at him, aware he was radiating all kinds of menace in Mitchell's general direction. "You think you can do better?"

 

Mitchell held his gaze steadily, unflinching. "Ever heard of the Sodan ritual of Kel Shak Lo?" he asked rhetorically.

 

Teyla, picking up on the palpable hostility in the room, tried to break the tension. "Colonel Mitchell, is there something we can help you with?" she placated.

 

Mitchell's eyes never left John's, and he spoke in an easy tone that contradicted his expression. "Not really, no. Just a little something between me and Sheppard that needs working out."

 

Teyla glanced uneasily at John before answering, "Colonel Sheppard and I are in the middle of a training session. Perhaps it would be best if you chose another time to—"

 

"Now's fine," John interrupted. Twirling the stick in his uninjured hand, he matched the other man's lighthearted tone and said, "C'mon, Mitchell. Let's see what you've got."

 

Mitchell nodded then, a hidden smirk playing across his features. John fought the urge to growl in anger.

 

Teyla reluctantly handed her weapons over to Mitchell, then stood aside to let him take her place on the mat. Mitchell approached, gently rolling his injured shoulder. "You want me to go easy on you?" John said, indicating Mitchell's shoulder, a slight edge to his taunting smirk.

 

"Nah, I'm good," he replied, swinging the sticks in his hands to test their weight and balance. After a moment, he settled into a fighting stance that John immediately recognized would put him on the defensive. He took up his own offensive stance in reply, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, and froze. He held his position for several long seconds, feeling his muscles strain slightly, until he saw his opening. Mitchell loosened his fingers slightly to adjust his grip, and that's when John attacked.

 

He struck fiercely at the stick in Mitchell's slack grip, but Mitchell was too quick. He spun easily out of range, and John only connected a glancing blow. He recovered quickly, going at Mitchell with a volley of quick strikes aimed at his head and chest. Mitchell blocked them all easily, then took advantage of an attack that left John's right side open. The stick hit John in the ribs with a dull smack, knocking the air from his lungs, and making John stumble back to catch his breath.

 

Mitchell smirked, hopping gamely on the balls of his feet. "You want me to go easy on you?" He parroted John's question from before with a hint of superiority. John set his jaw and attacked again, his muscles laboring under the rising intensity of his strikes. He tried a few of the more devious moves Teyla had taught him, spreading his targets out over the length of Mitchell's frame, trying to catch him off guard. Mitchell blocked each in turn, adding a few strikes of his own that John barely blocked. When one of Mitchell's sticks caught his injured hand, he hissed sharply and released his grip, sending the weapon flying across the room and nearly braining Teyla.

 

Mitchell raised an eyebrow, and motioned for John to go pick up his lost weapon. With a smug grin, he said, "You just can't seem to hold on to your things, can you?"

 

John just growled in response. He didn't give Mitchell time to prepare for his next advance, going after him with a fierce barrage of attacks that Mitchell met with equal intensity, even blocking some of the attacks with his forearms. A lucky hit to Mitchell's injured shoulder brought out a harsh grunt, and sent him stumbling backwards, clutching his shoulder protectively. John just glared back, raising an eyebrow and twirling the stick in his injured hand, still a little sore from Mitchell's cheap shot from earlier. Mitchell's jaw visibly twitched in anger, and then John found himself hurriedly blocking the oncoming attack. He wrenched his muscles as he twisted his body to avoid the weapons, feeling the rush of air from the swings. When he wasn't quick enough, one of Mitchell's sticks caught him across the face, sending him sprawling face first onto the mat, the tang of blood in his mouth. John spat the mess of blood and saliva onto the mat, then gingerly touched his tongue to the cut on the inside of his cheek. Turning to glare up at Mitchell, John rose to his knees and wiped the blood from his lips using the back of his hand.

 

"I think that is enough for one day," Teyla warned, giving Mitchell a look. "Colonel, if you—"

 

Sheppard cut her off with a feral yell, rounding on Mitchell with a 'surprise' attack that completely failed to take Mitchell by surprise. He met each of John's strikes head on, advancing with each one, until John had his back to the wall, and their sticks were locked in a stalemate. Still, Mitchell pressed in closer, and John pressed back, refusing to give even one inch. "You can't have him," John said, his voice groaning with the strain of exertion. "He won't go."

 

Mitchell narrowed his eyes, then said through clenched teeth, "Not unless he wants to."

 

John felt something inside his chest snap, and the next thing he knew, he'd sent Mitchell staggering backwards. He let loose a fierce volley of lightning-quick strikes to Mitchell's face and body, most of them slamming home to their target with a brutal yet gratifying thwack. John felt the same loss of control he'd had when fighting Teyla under the effect of the retrovirus. He held nothing back, and neither did Mitchell. John winced as the sticks connected to his ribs, his face, his arms, taking each hit as it came, burying the stinging pain of each one, determined to feel it later. With a rapid spin, John knocked one of Mitchell's sticks from his grasp, but he didn't stop, too caught up in the loss of control his was feeling. He continued to advance on Mitchell, who worked frantically to block the attacks. John's strikes had lost their finesse, taking on a desperate edge, until finally he just swung the weapon above his head, bringing it crashing down repeatedly on the stick Mitchell had raised in defense. Mitchell fell to his knees under the force of John's attack, until finally he lost his grip on the stick, and John propelled him backwards onto the mat. John kneeled over him, pinning him to the ground. He shoved his sticks up under Mitchell's chin and pressed down onto his throat, cutting off his air supply. That was when he felt a stick touch his own throat.

 

Teyla loomed over him, eyes blazing, using the end of the weapon pressed under his jaw to tilt his head sharply upwards. "That is _enough_, John," she said, using the hard tone that nobody, not even Elizabeth, could argue with.

 

John came back to himself like snapping out of a trance. He glanced down at Mitchell, beaten and bloody, fury and a hint of fear in his eyes. John immediately released his sticks, falling backwards into a crumpled position on the mat, eyes wide and staring. He watched as Mitchell sucked in a choking breath, taking in Mitchell's split lip, soon-to-be-black eye, and gashed, bruised cheekbone. John felt sickened by what he'd done, but even now, he still derived a grain of satisfaction from having beaten him.

 

Teyla left John crouched on the floor and helped Mitchell onto shaky legs. He didn't protest, but John noticed he was glaring at John like he wanted nothing better than to make him swallow a live grenade. His glare turned to a wince as Teyla carefully drew his arm up and over her shoulders. She turned to John with a look that promised a long, unpleasant conversation in his future, and said, "I will take Colonel Mitchell to the infirmary. Go to your quarters, and stay there. I will send Dr. Beckett to see to you after he has tended to Mitchell."

 

John nodded and watched them leave, still trying to reign in his riotous emotions. He thought back on the fight with an odd mixture of shame and pride. He knew he hadn't really meant to take the fight that far. John didn't want Mitchell dead, just…out of the picture. He'd known Rodney was on the short list of people John had considered himself close to during his life. He'd just never known how much he'd needed Rodney until he'd been faced with the possibility of losing him.

 

The closest thing John could think of, that even came close, was breathing. It was necessary, vital, but not something John was prone to worry about on a day to day basis. As long as there was air, he would continue to breathe, but rarely would he devote conscious thought to the natural process of moving air in and out of his lungs.

 

But take his air away, and breathing was all John could think about. It became the singular goal of his existence. His lungs would constrict, and his panic would rise until he would do anything for another breath, and if he couldn't get it, then his life was over.

 

But Rodney was so much more than that. And if Rodney left Atlantis, left _John_, to be with Mitchell, then…god, what was the point of even bothering to breathe?

 

John stood on trembling legs, then crossed the room to pick up the jacket and thigh holster he'd discarded before he began training. As he lifted the jacket, the familiar lemon fell out of his pocket, rolling quietly along the floor until it came to rest gently against his boot. Bending down, he grabbed the lemon and held it gingerly in his fingers. He had a brief flashback to handing a lemon over to Mitchell, just before he'd handed over Rodney into his safekeeping. And now, Rodney was probably going to follow Mitchell back to Earth, and out of John's life forever.

 

John hurled the lemon in frustration, staring aghast as it splattered against the wall, sending pulp and juices radiating outward in a brief explosion. Closing his eyes against the sight, John tightened his jaw and headed slowly back to his quarters, to wait for Beckett.

 

oOo

 

John grimaced as Carson finished poking and prodding his ribs, the tender flesh a dark crimson-purple under his fingers. Beckett had been all business from the moment he stepped into John's quarters. He clinically saw to John's many injuries, without the usual scolding, or grilling him about what had happened, or even the put-upon sighs that John suspected were reserved for the times he or Rodney were being particularly difficult. It was making John nervous.

 

"It's better than I expected," Carson said, "One cracked rib, several more bruised. You should be fine in a week or so." He reached into the kit he'd brought with him to make his 'house call' and withdrew a small bottle. "Here are a few meds for the pain, not that you'll bother to take them. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my other patients."

 

John took the bottle and watched him go, both dreading the question he wanted to ask, but also desperately needing to know. "Carson!" he called just as the doctor reached the door to exit his quarters. "How's Mitchell?"

 

And there was the sigh he recognized. Without turning to face John, he answered, "About the same as you, I'm afraid." With a brief glance in John's direction that didn't quite meet his eyes, Carson continued, "He's aggravated his previous injury, of course. Then there's the numerous contusions, two fractured ribs and the rest bruised on his left side, the black eye and laceration across his cheekbone…" Carson's eyes finally landed on John's face, and he trailed off at the expression he found there. Softening his tone, he finished, "You worked him over right good, Colonel, but he'll be fine."

 

John felt like a weight he didn't even know he'd been carrying had just been lifted from his shoulders, and he collapsed to his bed in relief, putting his face in his hands. He winced slightly when his injured hand touched his bruised cheek, settling for hanging his head slightly. "That's…that's good," he mumbled in reply.

 

"Aye," Carson agreed, finally taking pity on John and coming to sit across from him in John's desk chair. "Colonel Mitchell seems just as fond of the infirmary as you, I'm afraid, but Rodney's there to keep him company, so…" Carson turned a keen eye to John's uninjured hand as it tightened on his thigh. "Rodney's rather upset with you, however."

 

John carefully unclenched his jaw before he spoke. "He is?"

 

"Aye," Carson said again, this time adding a silent 'you bloody idiot' judging by his tone. "He thinks you beat the Colonel up out of some misguided need to defend your Jumper's honor."

 

John warily held Carson's gaze. "Is that what Mitchell told him?"

 

Carson sighed. "Both Teyla and Colonel Mitchell have been curiously tight-lipped on the cause of his injuries. They refused to tell me the whole story, but I imagine I have a pretty good idea."

 

John snorted self-consciously. "I'm pretty sure you don't."

 

After a long moment, John glanced up to see Carson looking at him with an expression borne of the sympathy of a friend, not a doctor. "Colonel, when a person loves someone as much as you love Rodney, the only person you can keep it a secret from is yourself…And, of course, Rodney, but seeing as how he's got the social skills of a rabid barracuda, I don't suppose he counts."

 

John swallowed thickly, willing down the momentary panic of being caught out. Then Carson smiled and patted his leg gently, and the panic dissolved as quickly as it had appeared. "Well, I'd best get back to the infirmary before Rodney figures out a way to injure Nurse Rhacheeda."

 

"Ugh," John winced. "You called in Nurse Ratched?" Petite yet stout, Nurse Ratched was a middle aged woman from some obscure Eastern European country, as well as the bane of John and Rodney's many infirmary visits. That woman could make even Joseph Stalin look like a fluffy kitten.

 

"No, I called in Nurse Rhacheeda," Carson replied dryly. "After I had to nearly tie Rodney to the infirmary bed, to keep him from coming after you in a fit of rage, I decided a few reinforcements wouldn't go amiss."

 

John made a face. "He's really mad, huh?"

 

"Aye," Carson answered sadly. "But give him time, I'm sure he'll come around." He smiled encouragingly, then exited John's quarters.

 

As the doors slid closed behind Carson, John closed his eyes tightly. The Odyssey was leaving tomorrow. Time was one thing he didn't have.

 

oOo

 

John was lying on top of the covers of his bed, wide awake, staring at his darkened ceiling. Despite Beckett's expectations, John had actually taken one of the pain pills he'd given him, mostly hoping it would help him sleep. Unfortunately, it had only succeeded in making him slightly woozy, not sleepy.

 

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Rodney shouted, barreling into John's room. He mentally flipped on John's lights to full blast, making John's eyes hurt, and then he froze when he caught sight of John's face. His anger immediately dissipated, giving way to concern. "Oh my god, you look awful," he murmured. "Are you all right?"

 

John groaned as he sat up on the edge of his bed. "I'm fine," he sighed. "And by the way, how the hell did you get out of the infirmary?"

 

"I put the sleeping pills Carson gave me into my pudding, then gave that to Nurse Ratched. Apparently, she has a weakness for chocolate." Rodney blinked, then suddenly remembered his anger from before. "And don't change the subject!" he continued, in the same tone he'd had upon entering John's quarters. "Didn't I tell you that the crash wasn't Mitchell's fault? Didn't I tell you I could fix it?"

 

"And didn't I tell you I don't care about the damned Jumper?" John fired back.

 

"Well what else could have possibly inspired your macho caveman attack on Mitchell?" Rodney rolled his eyes, incredulous.

 

"Are you going with him?" John asked heatedly. Rodney failed to make the connection.

 

"What?" he asked, his face a mask of confusion. "What are you—"

 

"_Are you going with him?_" he asked again, his voice an angry snarl.

 

Rodney's face paled slightly. "How did you—Did Mitchell say something?"

 

"Not exactly," John muttered. After several long moments, John cocked his head sideways. "Well?"

 

Rodney fidgeted nervously. "I…I haven't decided yet." He stuck his chin out defiantly, but to John the action lacked its usual bite. "And what did I say about changing the subject?"

 

"I didn't change the subject," John growled.

 

"What do you mean, you're—" A light bulb seemed to go off in Rodney's head. "You're angry with Mitchell for asking me to go back to Earth with him? So…what? You felt the only course of action was to beat the shit out of him? You've clearly been spending too much time with Ronon."

 

"No! That's not what I—" John stood abruptly, then ran a hand through his mess of hair. "Look, you're not going, all right? I won't let you. That's all there is to it."

 

Rodney's blue eyes darkened like storm clouds. "You won't _let_ me?" he scowled. "I'm sorry, I must have forgotten about the day I signed the paperwork giving you the right to dictate my _life_."

 

Okay, crap. This conversation was not at all going the way he wanted. John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes in frustration. "That's not what I meant! I just meant you're too important to let go."

 

Rodney just rolled his eyes. "I'm apparently indispensable everywhere," he spat. "You want me to stay here, and save our collective asses every week from the Wraith; Mitchell wants me to help SG-1 research weapons capable of defeating the Ori. Here or Earth, it doesn't make any difference. I'll still be expected to do the impossible under threat of impending death." He turned away, as if dismissing John's words, and said, "It doesn't matter."

 

John grabbed his shoulder, roughly turning him around and holding him in place. "It matters to me!"

 

"Look," Rodney snarled, not bothering to pull away from John's grip, "I'm not saying I'm going to leap at the chance to go back to Earth, but what's keeping me here? Mitchell said he _needed_ me! That he—"

 

John gave him a furious shake. "Damn it, Rodney! Would you forget about Mitchell for just _one second_? I'm trying to tell you that _I_ need you here, with me!" John let out a slow breath, the spoke in a gentler tone, but still rough with emotion. "I don't care how much Mitchell thinks he needs you, I need you more."

 

"What are you talking about?" Rodney's steely blue gaze melted at Sheppard's pained expression. He looked at John as if suddenly seeing the answer to an equation he hadn't even known existed. "Are…are you…?" His voice trailed off, unable to finish the thought. "You can't be. That's not possible."

 

John swallowed thickly, feeling his anger dissipating, only to be replaced with a different kind of tightness in his chest. His death-grip on Rodney's shoulder loosened. Slowly, deliberately, he moved his hand from Rodney's shoulder, up the side of his neck, to rest on his cheek. Rodney's breath hitched slightly, but he didn't pull away. Unable to stop himself now, John raised his other hand to cradle Rodney's face, his eyes locked on Rodney's slightly parted lips. He gradually pulled Rodney's face towards his own, his tongue darting out unconsciously to wet his lips just before their mouths met. The kiss was tender and honey sweet, their mouths fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. John felt a roaring warmth spread through his chest, sending tingles down his spine. The kiss felt luscious and possessive and _right_, and John couldn't help but lick gently at Rodney's bottom lip. A soft sound escaped from the back of Rodney's throat, and John felt emboldened enough to slip his tongue into Rodney's warm, inviting mouth, scraping it gently across his teeth.

 

Instantly, John felt Rodney's hands wrap around his waist and pull his body close, kissing him like a drowning man gasping for air. Rodney's arms tightened like an iron band across John's already bruised ribs, but he was too lost in pleasure to feel the pain. "Mmh, wait, John," he spoke between quick nibbles and sucks on John's lower lip, as if Rodney's mouth couldn't bear to be separated from John's for long enough to complete an entire sentence. "What about…stupid…backwards…American military…things…" he said, his words escaping as soft puffs of hot air against John's mouth.

 

John kissed him hard, unable to tear himself away, even as he considered the ramifications of what they were doing. He knew he could lose everything, his career, Atlantis…But he would have Rodney. And if it came down to it, he would choose Rodney without hesitation, because he was the one thing John couldn't live without, and that terrified him. "Don't worry about it," he replied against Rodney's mouth, desperate and pleading. "It doesn't matter." He slipped his hands from Rodney's face to the inside of his jacket, shoving the material off Rodney's shoulders and to the floor. Rodney responded by pulling John's t-shirt up and running blunt nails gently across his belly, fingertips barely sneaking past the edge of his waistband. Encouraged by John's low moan, he once again wrapped his arms tight around John's body, pulling him to the bed and dropping onto it in a tangle of greedy hands on skin and hot, wet mouths, and _oh, god, yes _became John's last coherent thought before he gave himself over to the want and need.

 

oOo

 

Rodney rolled off of John and settled next to him on the tiny bed, both men gasping for breath and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. John was still marveling at the electric hum lingering in his skin when Rodney said, loud and incredulous, "Holy _fuck_, John!"

 

John tried to grin smugly, but he knew it came out looking more dopey and satisfied. "That good, huh?" he said around ragged breaths.

 

Rodney just closed his eyes, as if trying to savor the remaining sensations of his afterglow. When he spoke again, his voice was almost a breathy moan. "Holy fuck…"

 

John could sympathize. If how he felt was any indication, then Rodney felt like his insides had just been liquefied and shot out of his cock. Once John's breathing had returned to some semblance of normalcy, and he had regained most of the feeling in his limbs, he leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed the first article of clothing he could find, which turned out to be his own shirt. He haphazardly wiped away their mess and tossed the t-shirt back to the floor, then pulled his already drowsy companion into his arms.

 

John's lazy fingers traced gently over the angry red bite mark on Rodney's shoulder, the edges already starting to bruise. God, he hadn't even realized he was capable of something like that. But the feeling of Rodney giving himself over completely had awakened something primal in John's chest, and he'd acted on it instinctively, digging his teeth into the flesh of Rodney's shoulder just hard enough to make him cry out. He'd been afraid that Rodney might be angry afterwards, or that John had hurt him, but if Rodney's contented, sleepy sigh was any indication, he didn't need to worry about it anymore.

 

Rodney's hand moved from John's hip to his chest, careful of his many bruises, and mindlessly threaded through the dark hair until he reached John's dogtags, and froze. John glanced at Rodney, seeing that his eyes were now suddenly wide and alert. "How does this work?" he asked, his quiet words merging with the jingling of the metal tags in his hand.

 

John removed the tags from Rodney's grip and replaced them with his own hand, twining their fingers together. After a small eternity, he said, "I don't know. I guess…it's just like anything else. We'll have to figure it out as we go." Rodney frowned, considering John's statement.

 

After only a short pause, Rodney came back with a typical non sequitur. "I have a concussion. I can't sleep for more than four hours. You'll have to wake me up."  

 

John felt a corner of his mouth turn upwards in a wicked grin. "That can be arranged."

 

oOo

 

John awoke slowly, the gentle Atlantean dawn casting a warm, orange glow across his face. He stretched groggily, his hand moving softly across the top of the mattress in search of Rodney's warmth. When all he found was cool sheets, he slitted open his eyes and squinted sleepily at the empty space. Frowning, he listened for the sound of the shower, or Rodney tapping on his laptop, but he was met with only silence. Confusion dragged him further towards consciousness, and John opened his eyes completely, rubbing the remnants of sleep from them as he surveyed his quarters. His search revealed that Rodney was gone, along with his clothes, but there was a yellow sticky note attached to John's laptop in Rodney's sketchy penmanship.

 

'Went to find Mitchell. Talk later.'

 

John's mouth turned to ash. Oh god, Rodney was…No. Not after last night. Rodney wouldn't have slept with him last night only to leave with Mitchell this morning. Unless…unless last night was his way of saying goodbye…

 

John was sitting on the edge of the bed, sheets tangled messily around his body. He was still clutching the tiny yellow note in his hand when Rodney walked through the door and gave John a crestfallen look. "Oh. You're awake."

 

The defenseless paper crumpled in John's fist. "Find Mitchell?" he asked, carefully toneless.

 

Rodney heaved a defeated sigh. "Yes."

 

John waited patiently for all of about three seconds before he canted his head slightly. "And?" he asked.

 

"And…I told him," Rodney answered, still in the same cheerless tone. "I told him everything, actually," he continued, chagrined. "I didn't mean to, of course. I mean there's no reason for him to know about…" He motioned vaguely between himself and John in a way that made John's ribs ache. "But, well, you know me. I'm terrible at bluffing, worse at lying, he saw through me right away, so I sort of…spilled everything." He chuckled humorlessly. And of course, Mitchell wouldn't want to hear all about him fucking another man. Especially if that man had beaten him up in a fit of jealous rage, a feeling that was rapidly becoming quite familiar…

 

"He took it well, I think," Rodney continued, oblivious to John's rising desire to have his own little chat with Mitchell. "Told me that I still have an open invitation to Earth, if I ever get sick of saving your ungrateful ass."

 

Wait…what? "What?"

 

Rodney held his hands up defensively, suddenly realizing what he'd said. "His words, not mine."

 

John blinked at him. "You're…you're staying?"

 

Rodney furrowed his brow, regarding John warily. Motioning to the sheet around his waist, he said, "Considering you're still naked, I'm fairly certain I didn't _hallucinate_ the mind-blowing sex last night, and I'd have to be seven kinds of stupid to leave after that."

 

Closing his eyes, John grinned and didn't fight the relieved sigh that sounded suspiciously like a dry sob as it escaped his chest. Without warning, he found Rodney's lips pressed to his in a searing kiss. Warm hands tenderly cradled John's injured ribs as he leaned him back onto the bed, Rodney's fully-clothed form scratching lightly over John's bare skin. Rodney's lips grazed along John's stubble-roughened jaw, finding the soft skin of his throat. John leaned his head backwards at the first soft lick from Rodney's tongue, exposing more of his throat to Rodney's explorations. His mouth moved down the line of John's neck, sucking and mouthing gently at his pulse point. When he reached John's collarbone, the rough pad of a thumb brushed over John's nipple, and he arched into the touch, making a sound that was mortifyingly similar to a mewl. The sound was quickly swallowed by Rodney's mouth over his, Rodney's slick tongue gliding roughly against his own. With one last nip to John's bottom lip, Rodney pulled away slightly to smirk down at John. "I must have been incredible last night, to leave you so brain damaged you think I'd ever be crazy enough to leave this." His smirk turned serious as he corrected, "To leave you."

 

"I would have come after you," John said, knowing the words were true only after he spoke them.

 

"You wouldn't have had to," Rodney answered with a slow smile. "Even without the mind-blowing sex, I'm still rather fond of you. I'm fairly sure I would have stuck around for a while, at least."

 

John rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Rodney. I'm touched."

 

Rodney's smile turned evil, and he began pushing the sheets from around John's waist. "Not yet, you're not."

 

oOo

 

John would have been more than happy to lie in bed with Rodney all day and skip SG-1's departure, but the Odyssey had arrived right on schedule, as had Elizabeth's radio call 'requesting' their presence in the Gateroom. John and Rodney were up in the control room, looking down at the personnel milling about the departure area, preparing to be beamed aboard. Colonel Mitchell was there, easily recognizable in his white sling and bandages. The rest of SG-1 was sticking close, occasionally casting black glares up at John. He tried to feel bad about it, but considering Mitchell got in a few good licks of his own, he didn't put too much effort into it.

 

John spied Mitchell breaking off from the milling crowd and heading towards the control room. John very deliberately looked him in the eye and placed his hand on Rodney's shoulder, directly over the hidden mark he'd made last night.

 

Rodney instantly slapped his hand away, glaring at John. "Oh, please!" he hissed. "Must you be so terribly Neanderthal? If you want to claim me, why don't you just knock me over the head and drag me off to your cave?"

 

John grinned wickedly, and lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. "Not a bad idea. Or maybe…I should just bend you over this control panel, and make it clear that you're off the market- although that might raise a few eyebrows." Rodney released a barely contained squeak, and John filed _that_ reaction away for further investigation, then turned his gaze once more to the approaching Colonel. "Mitchell," he greeted with false sincerity. "Have a nice flight back. Sorry we couldn't get that whole Stargate bridge thing set up for you." _Because anything that gets you out of here and back to Earth faster is a definite plus_, he added silently.

 

"Don't sweat it," Mitchell replied, sounding as if he knew exactly what John was thinking. "I'm sure you'll have it up and running soon enough, and then we can come and go as we please," he added with a tiny and somewhat threatening smirk. Turning to Rodney, he addressed him fondly, and John had to fist his hand in his pocket to keep from once again laying it across Rodney's shoulder. "McKay," he said, holding out his good hand to shake Rodney's, "I never thought I'd say this, but I might actually miss ya." Then he continued to speak to Rodney, but let his eyes rest on Sheppard. "I just hope the rest of Atlantis knows how lucky they are to have you."

 

John felt the weight of meaning behind his words. Rodney inquisitively followed Mitchell's gaze to meet John's eyes. Smiling warmly at the scientist, John just nodded, and Rodney answered, "Trust me, they do."

 

Rodney's response seemed to satisfy Mitchell, but the smile he turned on Sheppard still felt a bit forced. "Like I said, Sheppard, this is an amazing city you've got here. You better take good care of it, or I might just have to come do it for you."

 

John narrowed his eyes at the implied threat, but the sharp look from Rodney clearly said, 'If you don't put a stop to this incredibly pointless pissing contest then I will, and you will _not_ be happy with the results,' so he managed to hold his tongue.

 

"I think he'll do fine, Colonel," Rodney answered.

 

Mitchell's face fell a little at that, looking at Rodney with the hint of a frown. After a few impassive seconds, Mitchell nodded in acceptance. Hesitating briefly before patting Rodney gently on the shoulder, he opened his mouth to speak and was cut off by Carter calling his name. A small smile touched his lips, but John could see the resignation in his eyes. "That's my ride," he said lightly, then after a moment's pause, headed back towards the Gateroom.

 

Rodney watched him go, moving almost subconsciously closer to the balcony railing to get a better view of Mitchell's departure. John had to willfully plant his feet to stop himself from moving to Rodney's side, recognizing that he needed his space to say this one final goodbye. The seconds were unnaturally long, Rodney just staring down at Mitchell as he spoke with his team. And then Mitchell looked up into the control room, right at Rodney. He raised his good hand in a slight wave, and then a flash of light flooded the Gateroom. When the light dimmed, the room was empty.

 

John let him have another moment to himself, then laid on hand gently on his shoulder. Rodney turned reluctantly to look at him. "You okay?" John asked.

 

John held his gaze, watching Rodney's eyes as he worked through something in his head. John recognized his 'I have brilliant, half-formed idea' expression easily, right before the expression shifted to 'okay, done now.'

 

"Yeah. I'm fine." A small smile graced his features as Rodney's eyes looked at John in the same way they had last night, just before he'd drifted off to sleep, open and vulnerable and unselfconsciously laying everything out in the open. "No regrets," he said confidently.

 

"Good." John found himself smiling back, then guided Rodney out of the control room. "So, lunch?"

 

"God, yes," Rodney brightened, and they began walking towards the mess. "I'm starving! And then maybe afterwards, we can take advantage of the team's downtime while you're injured." John cast him a sidelong glance, eyebrow raised, as Rodney prattled on. "I've been having difficulty researching that personal cloaking device, I think it needs somebody with a stronger ATA gene to initialize it. Oh, and Zelenka's completely useless with some of the Jumper systems he's working to repair, so we might have to—"

 

His ramblings were cut short when John grabbed him by the sides of his face, covering Rodney's still moving mouth with his own. Rodney let out a small noise of surprise, then he moved his hands to John's hips and pulled their bodies together, shoulder to groin. John continued to kiss him, wet and dirty, until he felt Rodney just begin to lose himself in the kiss. He pulled back with a sharp pant, knowing his own expression matched Rodney's lust filled gaze. "I can think of better ways to use our downtime," he muttered huskily.

 

Rodney let out an incoherent noise before snapping his mouth shut. After taking a moment to collect himself, he shot a glare at John and said, "Fine, but _you're_ explaining to Elizabeth about my sudden drop in productivity."

 

John let out a sharp bark of laughter as Rodney led the way to the mess, mumbling something about John owing him a lifetime supply of pudding cups, and John realized in that moment he was utterly, irretrievably lost.

 

Terrifyingly, he was okay with that.

 


End file.
